


here's looking at you, kid

by threefundamentaltruths



Series: my dearest, angelica [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AKA Stephanie (Stevie) Van Rensselaer, F/F, F/M, Gen, Girl!Steven, Note the difference between "/" and "&"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-10-22 18:07:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threefundamentaltruths/pseuds/threefundamentaltruths
Summary: This collection is part oflet me be a part of the narrative, a series of various scenes (and headcanons) in a modern AU 'verse calledmy dearest, angelica.my dearest, angelicais very loosely based on my canon era AUhe takes (and he takes and he takes). The collections inlet me be a part of the narrativeand the scenes within them come in no particular order and from a variety of POVs.This particular collection,here's looking at you, kid, focuses on Stephanie (Stevie) van Rensselaer and Peggy Schuyler, with appearances from/mentions of various Schuylers, Schuyler-adjacents, and others.Part 4: When they’re curled up together in the quiet, Peggy’s jumpsuit looking even better on Stevie’s floor, Peggy says tentatively, “At Thanksgiving . . . you must have known by then, you’re –”





	1. January 2012: Stevie, Alexander, Stevie/Peggy

**Author's Note:**

> For those following at home, the _my dearest, angelica_ universe features, among other things:
> 
> \- The Schuylers (and in-laws) as basically their own political-dynasty-in-the-making and an all-around awesome family
> 
> \- Trevor Noah's crush on Angelica, who is a senator and the better half of "the Beyoncé and Jay-Z of the resistance," as a running gag on The Daily Show (he’s the one who calls her “my dearest, Angelica”)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stevie and Peggy see each other for the first time in a few months, for only the second time after the divorce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head canons for context:
> 
> \- We have a Stephanie (Stevie) van Rensselaer rather than a Stephen. 
> 
> \- Like historical Stephen, Stevie loses her father very young, but also loses her mother and paternal aunt Elizabeth in the same car accident. The only survivor is her uncle by marriage, Abraham (Bram) Ten Broeck, who does love her, but is an emotionally distant guardian. (Stevie, who is a baby at the time, wasn’t in the car because she was home with a baby-sitter that night.) Because Stevie is an only child and Bram and Elizabeth didn’t have children yet, Stevie is the sole heiress to the entire van Rensselaer fortune.
> 
> \- Stevie meets Peggy in the fall of 1994, when she is a senior at Princeton. (Historical SvR went to Princeton.) Peggy is a TA for her art history class. Therefore, Modern AU Peggy, like historical Peggy, is something of a cradle robber, and Uncle Bram is accordingly super-suspicious of her.
> 
> \- Stevie’s BFF Harry (Henry Laurens, Jr.) is also in Peggy’s section of the aforementioned art history class, and, through his shenanigans, bears no insignificant share of the credit/blame for Stevie actually admitting her feelings to Peggy during office hours. 
> 
> \- Stevie and Peggy don’t officially start dating until after Stevie graduates in the spring of 1995. They get married in 2004 in Massachusetts after same-sex marriage is legalized there.
> 
> \- Catharine Schuyler, who despaired of getting to plan more than one massive wedding (Eliza’s) by that point, is the most excited Mother of the Bride of all time.
> 
> \- Stevie calls Catharine Mom. (And I cry.)

_January 2012_

 

Alexander is so excruciatingly awkward when he meets her eyes at the Graham-Windham gala that she knows John didn’t spill the beans – at least not to him. “I – hi, Stevie.” He smiles uncomfortably. “Congrats.”

 

“Thanks, Alex,” she replies with her best society smile, resisting the urge to smooth down her dress. That’s when her WASP training kicks in to smooth things over. “How are the kids?”

 

And she genuinely wants to hear about her n – _his kids_. She misses Peggy most, of course, but she misses the rest of the family _so much_ – John, Angelica and Eliza, even Alexander and Philip the elder, but especially Catharine ( _Mom_ ) and all the kids. She bawled her eyes out when Pip emailed her the day after Thanksgiving, asking to get coffee at a little place just off-campus. She donned her warmest, roomiest sweater and went because she couldn’t not.   

 

The discomfiture fades as Alexander’s eyes light up. He can go on forever about anything, could make you believe up is down, down is up, the sky is green and the grass is blue if he puts his mind to it, but his kids are one of maybe three topics he’ll always _enjoy_ going on forever about. “Philip’s studying abroad.”

 

He mentioned he was leaving after Christmas as he fiddled with the sleeve of his coffee cup and she sipped at her caffeine-free tea, how excited he was, how nervous, too. _Don’t wanna let Dad down._ Not Eliza. Philip couldn’t let Eliza down if he shot a man in cold blood on Fifth Avenue. But Alexander’s always wanted his kids to have everything he didn’t, do and be everything he couldn’t. He loves the hell out of them, she knows, and they know, but she also knows the pressure of trying to be someone else’s legacy.

 

“Let me show you the pictures he –”

 

“Wow,” Peggy whispers, a little hoarse, from her right.

 

Alexander stops dead, seeming to consider his options only a moment before nodding at her and slipping away with uncharacteristic tact and discretion.

 

“Look at you.”

 

 _What a difference a year makes, huh?_ This time last year, they’d been on the brink, at an impasse. She’d been days away from her handing her wife the papers that would undo everything they’d built together and now she’s standing in front of her, well on her way to having what she wanted badly enough to leave the love of her life to get it, and her heart hurts.

 

(Does she regret it? She can’t –

 

_Danger, Stephanie van Rensselaer._

 

There’s only a world of pain that way.)

 

Peggy reaches out, but then pulls her hands back, before actually –

 

Instinctively, she takes one of Peggy’s hands and holds it in her own, savors for a half-moment the feel of the fingers she’d memorized years ago – “Do you –”

 

Peggy gives a tiny nod.

 

Her baby boy kicks once, twice, beneath Peggy's palm and she sees the same look of wonder that appeared on Peggy’s face whenever she felt one of their nieces or nephews move for the first time, remembers how it never got old.

 

Today, the memory makes her want to cry, because that look is edged with pain.

 

Until Peggy kisses her.

 

\--- 

 

No one tells you how your hormones will rage worse than a teenager’s.

 

Objectively attractive though Harry is, there’s literally never been a single spark there for her; she’s never once wanted to fuck her best friend. Nearly six months pregnant is the first time that she entertains the notion, for half a second, in twenty years of friendship.

 

But when faced with the one person she’s been hot for since the day she met her? It’s a miracle she didn’t jump her ex-wife right in the middle of whatever charity gala they were at.

 

(She always remembers her causes, but baby brain. Fuck baby brain.)

 

“Look at you,” Peggy says again when they’re alone in Stevie's suite (the one she’s living out of until the renovations on her new place – overlooking Central Park, perfect for a kid – are done) and finally come up for air, after Peggy’s managed to unzip her dress and help her step out of it.

 

(Now she’s glad she decided against the zipper-less one; that would have been a bitch.)

 

It’s different now that she’s standing there in nothing but her embarrassing underwear, just one of her new old lady bras to support her suddenly enormous boobs and her boring pregnant lady panties. She feels completely naked and wants to get Peggy into a similar state of undress –

 

(Peggy’s still dressed in her inexplicably sexy formal jumpsuit - white, of course, because the theme was _A Winter’s Ball -_ and spiky silver heels. Peggy’s fashion choices don’t usually tend toward the overly feminine like hers, pastel-and-Lilly-Pulitzer-princess that she is, but Peggy loves wearing spiky high heels with formal wear and bold lipsticks 24/7/365.

 

She’s _rocking_ both today, and making Stevie's mouth go dry.)

 

But then Peggy orders, “Sit,” gesturing to the throne-like Louis XV chair in the middle of the room, and she understands.

 

When she obeys and leans back, hands curling into the armrests in anticipation, Peggy kneels and nudges her legs apart, a curtain of growing-back locks falling in her face.

 

(The day after they signed the papers, Peggy chopped the long curls Stevie had always loved to her chin.

 

Even though they were still living in their penthouse because they didn’t want to tell anyone yet, didn’t want to ruin the vow renewal Angelica had been so reluctant to agree to but was by then "secretly" so excited about, they rarely spoke or even looked at each other at that point. She found out from Peggy's Facebook post, shut her laptop, and cried.)

 

She could look at Peggy forever, but she closes her eyes because she doesn’t want to wake up.

 

\---

 

After, when she sees the dirty knees of Peggy’s formerly pristine white jumpsuit, she can’t help but smirk to herself, even though she’s still so weak-kneed with pleasure that a suddenly shy Peggy has to give her a hand so she can rise to her feet and lead her into the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The sheer number of thoughts in parentheses are attributable to Stevie's baby brain, and I apologize.
> 
> \- Special thanks to ossapher for her assistance!


	2. Fall 1994: Peggy, John, Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Laurens is her last student meeting of the day, and her easiest. When he’s done explaining his topic for the next paper for her approval, Peggy has no constructive criticism to offer, because he’s already thought of everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanons:
> 
> \- Harry has ADHD, but doesn't get diagnosed until his freshman year of college, when his older sister Martha (Patty) steps in. He gets tested for learning disabilities after his first semester at her insistence after Patty hears their father berate him for his bad grades. He lashes out at first when she brings it up and says he’s just not as smart – _as John_ , she fills in for him mentally. But she thinks he’s wrong; she was a psychology major and she’s teaching now and based on her own students, she has a feeling about Harry. She’s right, he ends up getting effective treatment and accommodations for his ADHD, and he’s able to flourish at Princeton after that.
> 
> \- Despite Henry pushing him to go to law school and making him take the LSAT, Harry _really_ wants to be a doctor. He took all the pre-med requirements, took the MCAT secretly, and even applied to medical schools without telling anyone except Patty and Stevie.

_September 1994_

 

Peggy knows about John’s younger siblings, at least all of their names, and that he’s estranged from all of them except Patty. He’d mentioned that before inviting Patty to Thanksgiving at The Pastures at Alexander and Eliza and Mom’s insistence the first Thanksgiving after Patty graduated from college and got out from under their father’s thumb. She also knows that his brother Harry goes to Princeton because he’d mentioned that in a sad, quiet voice when she first started her PhD there, said that maybe she’d see him around.

 

So she knows exactly who the Henry Laurens, Jr. on her roster is the minute she reads it, before she ever walks into her classroom and sees the striking resemblance between the brothers.

 

It only takes a day for her to crack and tell John that his little brother is going to be one of her students.

 

“Please be nice to him, Peg,” John pleads.

 

“Of course,” she promises easily.

 

“He ended up at Princeton, so clearly he turned out all right, but Dad used to call him a blockhead, the dim bulb of the family, and I know it got to him, so . . . yeah, just be nice to him.”

 

\---

 

When she meets John’s smart-aleck varsity football player not-so-little brother, she thinks John’s being overly generous, blinded by family loyalty, that maybe Henry Sr. was right on the money and probably paid his namesake’s way in. Harry Laurens is probably just like every other football player, just skating by.

 

\---

 

_November 1994_

 

Harry is her last student meeting of the day, and her easiest. When he’s done explaining his topic for the next paper for her approval, Peggy has no constructive criticism to offer, because he’s already thought of everything.

 

She hates to admit it, even to herself, but Harry’s a smart kid. (Guy. Guy. He’s only five years younger than her.  _Stevie’s_ only –) When she had to grade her section's first papers, she was shocked by just how much better his essay was than everybody else’s. Then she wondered if he'd plagiarized, or paid somebody to write it, or –

 

And then, through some pretty shady maneuvers, she tracked down his transcripts and saw he had great grades except for the first semester of his freshman year, and it’s typical for kids to struggle that first semester. After that, she felt bad for making assumptions.

 

She’s decided to do this in part because she wants to give him the benefit of the doubt that she didn’t extend to his intellectual capabilities. She begins, faux-causally, “You’re good to go on your paper topic – Seriously, you’re the only one besides Stevie who’s not making me earn my meager stipend.” That’s the closest thing she gives to praise. “By the way, I know you pushed Stevie to talk to me, so let me say thanks for making this little old lesbian a happy camper, Cupid.”

 

Harry ducks his head, flushing a little, muttering something inaudible.

 

“Not that we can do anything about it until she graduates, but still. Anyway, totally unrelated to your paper topic . . .” She takes a breath. “You can’t really hate gay people all that much if your best friend’s a bi wo –”

 

“I don’t hate gay people at all!” Harry sputters angrily.

 

Maybe not the best way to start this conversation, but she’s always been the bluntest person she knows.

 

“I’m not my –” He stops abruptly.

 

 _Not my father_  is probably what he meant to say. “So why the hell do you refuse to talk to your brother?”

 

“You know – you know John?”

 

“Yeah. He went to law school with my sister and my brother-in-law. He’s their best friend, best man at my other sister's wedding, my nephew’s godfather. Always comes to my parents’ house for holidays. Good family friend, good friend of mine, all-around good guy, and I honestly can’t understand why you wouldn’t want him to be part of your life. You’re smart enough to know good people when you meet them, or you wouldn’t have badgered Stevie into being your friend.”

 

“It’s not because – I don’t give a fuck who he wants to sleep with or love or whatever." 

 

“Then why is it?”

 

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

 

“You don’t, but maybe you should, because I know your brother wants to talk to you again. I know it hurts him not to be part of your and your little sister’s life.” 

 

Harry looks away, pointedly, at the wall. “It’s because he left.”

 

“He went to –”

 

“He left,” Harry interrupts angrily. “And then all Dad’s expectations and all the pressure and all the bullshit got put on me. I didn’t want to go to Princeton! I’m not smart enough for Princeton!”

 

 _You_ are  _smart enough for Princeton_ , she wants to say, because he is and he’s doing so well and it’s so fucking sad he still doesn’t believe it, but he’s on a roll.

 

“I didn’t want to play football! I don’t want to go to law school!” He’s breathing hard now. “I’m pissed that he knew what it was like, and he left anyway!”

 

She waits until she’s sure he’s done. “After going through it yourself, can’t you understand why he left? And on top of all that, your dad couldn’t accept who he was.”

 

Harry remains silent.

 

“You should come to Thanksgiving at my parents’. Spend a little time with your brother. Give him a chance and give yourself a chance. He gets it, the whole dealing with your dad’s expectations thing. And there’ll be a million other people as a buffer if it’s too weird.”

 

“I always –”

 

“Then you won’t have to go home and hear how you’re not living up to expectations,” she cajoles. “Tell your dad your bitch TA assigned a paper due the Monday after Thanksgiving and you have to work on it.” From what she’s heard of Henry Sr., she’s surprised he even allowed his son to take an art history class. And he must know – everything John’s said suggests he’s the kind of father who pores over transcripts, demanding why you got an A- instead of an A.

 

“Stevie always comes to Charleston with me,” Harry says quietly.

 

“Stevie can come to Albany, too.”

 

“So this is really just an excuse to get your student crush under the same roof –”

 

She cuts him off, “Just promise you and John won’t get into a fistfight and knock down the dinner table. I think my mom would have a heart attack if you destroyed her beautiful bird and her perfect sides and her home-baked pies. Fistfights outdoors are negotiable.”

 

He smirks. “I promise, but only because I'm the best wingman of all time.” 

 

Charming little fucker. She’d probably be half in love with him if she liked men.


	3. October 2009: Stevie, Philip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What were you _thinking_?” Stevie asks when they’re alone in the car, both of them buckled in, but before she starts the engine.
> 
> “You should’ve heard the shit he said about –”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant headcanons:
> 
> \- After Alexander becomes Deputy Attorney General in the spring of 2009, Eliza moves down to DC with the kids after school's out. While his younger siblings start the 2009-2010 school year in DC, Philip just has one year of high school left, so Alex and Eliza come to the pretty painful conclusion that it might not be the worst idea to let him finish out his senior year at his current school in NYC rather than uproot him so close to the end. They're only able to let themselves even entertain the notion because Peggy and Stevie are still in Manhattan and agree to have Philip live with them for the duration of the school year.

_October 2009_

 

She’s on a roll with this chapter and doesn’t really want to pick up, but it’s a 212 number, so odds are it’s actually an important call. “Hello?”

 

“Ms. van Rensselaer?”

 

“Yes, may I ask who’s calling?”

 

“I’m calling from the Dalton School. You’re listed as one of Philip Hamilton’s emergency contacts –”

 

“Yes – what’s the matter?” she demands, sitting up straighter, instantly concerned. “Is he sick, or –”

 

“He was involved in a physical altercation with another student and is being sent home for the remainder of the day. We couldn’t get a hold of Ms. Schuyler. You need to come collect him.”

 

“Of course,” she says, feeling faintly dazed – her adrenaline spiked up like crazy until they said he was just in trouble – but mostly relieved. You can usually throw money at trouble, and she’s got plenty of that.

 

\---

 

“I’m here for Philip Hamilton,” she says softly to the rather intimidating-looking receptionist outside the head of school’s office.

 

“And you are?” the woman asks, nose so high in the air Stevie wonders how she can see anything in front of her.

 

She straightens up and says very calmly, “His aunt, Stephanie van Rensselaer.”

 

That gets the attention of the haughty woman sitting in front of her, who immediately scrambles to stand. “Ms. van Rensselaer.”

 

She’s a Dalton alumna herself – through the eighth grade, before Uncle Bram shipped her off to board at Porter’s – and, besides covering the tab for her nieces and nephews before everybody left them for DC and the administration, she’s cut checks for some hefty donations over the years. She had the arts center here named after Peggy’s parents, the gymnasium at Porter’s named after her own, since her mother was once a day student there.

 

“Would you like something to drink? We have coffee, tea, or –”

 

“I’m quite all right, thank you,” she interrupts curtly.

 

“Ms. van Rensselaer,” Mrs. Stein greets her not two minutes later. “Please sit. I wish we were meeting again under better circumstances.” She sighs. “As I’m sure you know, Mr. Hamilton is a very gifted young man, and I of course am sympathetic to the . . . changes at home.” It’s nearly hilarious how the woman with her hushed voice makes it sound as though something awful has happened to the Hamiltons rather than Philip’s father becoming Deputy Attorney General of the United States. “But fisticuffs are unacceptable under any circumstance.”

 

“Of course,” she murmurs.

 

“Mr. Eacker’s parents are very displeased, and rightfully so. I am being lenient with punishment because this is a first offense and Mr. Hamilton has such a bright future ahead of him. I would hate to see him mar his prospects over foolish playground antics.”

 

She nods. Philip is applying early to Columbia and any disciplinary measures on Dalton’s part certainly wouldn’t help his case.

 

“But a second such incident would result in a suspension or perhaps even an expulsion.”

 

“I’ll make sure to impress that upon him, ma’am,” she assures the head of school very seriously. And she will, but it won’t do to act flustered in front of her.

 

“Very good, Ms. van Rensselaer.”

 

She suspects the woman would have said _excellent_ if she’d been shameless and shown up with checkbook in hand. But she’ll make her wait for it.

 

“I will, of course, also be in touch with his parents.”

 

“Of course.”

 

\---

 

“What were you _thinking_?” she asks as soon as they’re alone in the car, both of them buckled in, but before she starts the engine.

 

“You should’ve heard the shit he said about –”

 

She barely resists the urge to roll her eyes. Philip is generally well-liked among his classmates, but teenage boys are stupid, so it’s hardly the first time some little son of a bitch at Dalton’s talked smack about Alexander to Philip, and Philip’s never hit anyone over such stupid shit; he vents, so she’s heard plenty to that effect already. “Your dad doesn’t need you to defend him from stupid schoolboys; he’s a grown man, and he doesn’t give a fuck –” She’s been with Peggy too long; she used to be such a proper little thing a lifetime ago. “What somebody’s saying about him in the schoolyard.” Not entirely true, but she doubts Alexander wants Philip being expelled from the top-notch prep school he could only dream of at Philip’s age for his sake. “You’re a smart kid; act like it. You do this again, you could get suspended or expelled.”

 

Other than muttering “I won’t,” Philip remains silent for the rest of the ride home, staring sullenly out the window. 


	4. January 2012: Stevie/Peggy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they’re curled up together in the quiet, Peggy’s jumpsuit looking even better on Stevie’s floor, Peggy says tentatively, “At Thanksgiving . . . you must have known by then, you’re –”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is your3fundamentaltruths - come say hello!

Peggy’s gained weight, and Stevie doesn’t dislike it.

 

Stevie’s never been much of a cook, and she probably would have lost weight if not for the fact that she got pregnant and has made sure to eat well, but Peggy’s always been creative in the kitchen. Maybe that’s one of the ways she’s been occupying her time.

 

_Other than finding somebody else, probably._

 

It’s awful of her, but it makes her feel a little less wrong-footed, too, like she isn’t the only one who’s changed. She’s tall and she’s always been slender thanks to good genes, where Peggy is petite and curvy but trim, because Peggy likes things like kickboxing and karate that keep her in shape.

 

Now Stevie’s gained twenty-four pounds and curves she never had before (never wanted before, no matter how much she liked them on her wife) and is still gaining, her center of gravity is fucked, and genetics can’t help her at the moment.

 

Peggy’s just a little softer, her face a bit rounder, so _lovely_.

 

It’s totally (not) the same.

 

\---

 

When they’re curled up together in the quiet, Peggy’s jumpsuit looking even better on her floor, Peggy says tentatively, “At Thanksgiving . . . you must have known by then, you’re –”

 

“Huge already?” she interrupts self-deprecatingly.

 

“Five, six months?” Peggy guesses shrewdly. She has enough nieces and nephews.

 

“Six.” She shrugs, shifting away, suddenly feeling uncomfortably hemmed in. She'd not wanted to give herself time to change her mind, to go crawling back to Peggy, her heart and her biological clock in a brutal tug of war, and it had taken the very first time. 

 

But Peggy’s relentless. “You should’ve told me.”

 

“And what, rub salt in the wound?” she says, instantly defensive, and regrets it when she turns her head and sees the stricken look on Peggy’s face.

 

“How did it happen?” Peggy asks stiffly.

 

“Peg –”

 

“How?” Peggy insists.

 

“Turkey baster, basically,” she says too-flippantly. “Used a donor. There isn’t – it’s just me,” she says in a smaller voice.

 

“I’m sorry,” Peggy says in an equally small voice, the earlier harshness bled out entirely.

 

Peggy and the Schuylers _and_ a child of her own was apparently too much to ask. “I know.”

 

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Peggy's fingertips against the underside of her belly are so tentative that her heart breaks a little more.

 

“Boy. It’s a good thing we helped with Eliza’s," she says with forced brightness. "Now I know how to handle one.”

 

She might have let Angelica’s girls break all Mom’s rules about bedtime and sugary snacks and too much TV when they slept over, because somebody had to and Daddy would get in _very big trouble_ if he did,Lizzie once said very solemnly in her best attempt at persuasion, complete with a _who me_ face to do Uncle Harry and Aunt Polly proud. But she tried to be more than the cool younger aunt, too. She always tried to be to their nephews and nieces what Uncle Bram couldn’t be to her. She was warm and playful and open with her affection, generous with hugs and kisses and presents chosen with utmost care for the recipient, a listening ear the rare times Eliza’s kids felt they couldn’t talk to Mom or Dad.

 

“Yeah,” Peggy says softly. “Do you know what you’re going to call him?”

 

“Julian.”

 

“Julian van Rensselaer." Peggy stops touching her belly entirely. "That’s a nice name.”

 

“Thanks.” If he’d been theirs, he has a feeling she would have ended up naming him after somebody, not just his middle name after Harry, if the Schuyler family track record is anything to go by. Hell, she has her own namesake niece, which has got to be awkward now. Poor Stephie. “How’s Stephie?”

 

Peggy gives her a confused look, but she hardly wants to explain her train of thought, and Peggy finally says, “Mom feels personally betrayed at how much she likes nursery school.”

 

She laughs. “I could see that.”

 

Peggy laughs, too, and it’s so _nice_.

 

She's missed Peggy’s laugh. Not just the sound of it, but the way Peggy laughs with her whole face, with her body.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Title of this collection does, of course, not belong to me. Here's looking at you, Bogie!
> 
> \- Catch me on Tumblr! I'm your3fundamentaltruths


End file.
